


Secret Agent Man (Ianto Solo)

by Feral_Female



Category: Torchwood
Genre: AU, Anal Sex, Erotic, Gay Sex, M/M, Minor Violence, Monsters, Oral Sex, Rimming, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-08 03:06:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8828059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feral_Female/pseuds/Feral_Female
Summary: This third story in my Torchwood world picks up a directly after "Busman’s Holiday" and finds our beloved factotum now stepping into the field for his first solo case (and story) as a Torchwood agent. The chapters in this story are roughly 1000 to 2000 words although a few do run over. This story – as all of mine do - takes place before CoE. There may be some small liberties taken from time to time with references to the show and its timelines. Since I’m a writer of gay romance, these Torchwood tales will be character driven with great attention to Jack and Ianto's continually growing and shifting relationship. That said, there will also be some alien/monster action to keep the guys busy when they're out of bed. I hope you enjoy my take on this amazing world and these two incredible men.





	1. Secret Agent Man - Chapter 1 - Bara Brith and Tea on the Bog

**Secret Agent Man (Ianto Solo)**

**Chapter One**

**Bara Brith and Tea on the Bog**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

“Would you like more bread, Jack?” I asked and held up the plate of speckled bread. Enid waved a small bowl of softened butter in Jack’s general direction.

“No, thank you, I’m already bordering on being so full it’s uncomfortable.” He gently pushed the platter of fruited bread away. I took one more slice of the still warm treat, slathered it with salted butter, and took a huge bite. “So, Enid, now that we’re all settled in, can we ask you a few questions?”

“You two boys did me a good wiping out all those leapers,” she said, her white eyes flitting from me to Jack. I leaned back in the dusty chair, chewed silently on my bite of bara brith, and ran an eye over the living room of Enid’s home. It was small and packed with oddities and knick-knacks. “More tea?” she asked. I nodded, and then replied verbally, handing her my empty mug. Jack cocked an eyebrow but continued to look as if he wished to prod at the old woman pouring hot tea into my mug with a practiced hand a bit more. “Do you like the brew? I mix the leaves myself.”

“Mm, yes, it’s quite good,” I replied after taking my mug back from her. “How do you manage to pour tea when you can’t see?” I snuck another slice of bread from the plate and didn’t look at Jack this time. “Don’t you ever scald yourself?”

“When you lose one sense, the others get stronger,” she laughed. Maybe it was more of a cackle. “Which is why I can smell that you two have been all over each other this morning. Couple of randy ones, ain’t you?” She laughed with glee and wiggled a crooked finger at us. I looked over at a stack of newspapers on top of an old gas heater crammed into the corner, my face red. Jack was a bit less flappable or prone to embarrassment.

“Horny as old goats,” Jack interjected into her merriment. “So, Enid, why did no one from Wolcott on the Bog ever call for help dealing with the leapers?”

“We did,” she said. My gaze left the gas stove buried under papers and boxes to settle on Enid. “Someone would call out to Blare’s End every time another went missing. They’d send out that useless fop that calls himself a constable. He’d poke about a bit and then tell us that people go off all the time. He’d quote some asinine statistics at us about runaways and such rot. Then, off he’d go, not to be seen or heard from again until another Bogger would be hauled off.”

“How long did it take for the leapers to clear out the village?” I asked, wiping my buttery fingers on my jeans. Jack sat on a fat old ottoman, his elbows on his knees and his sharp eyes on Enid. His broad shoulders strained the seams of the striped shirt he wore. He was, for the moment, coatless. I rather enjoyed seeing the material of his shirt stretch over his biceps as he leaned forward although Jack in his coat was also a magnificent sight.

“Not long. A month maybe.” Enid dropped a sugar cube into her empty cup then filled the chipped mug with hot tea.

“And every time someone called over to this Blare’s End, the disappearances were fluffed off?” Jack asked. Enid bobbed her white head then dipped a bit of bread crust into her tea. Jack pushed to his feet. I placed my tea on the crowded coffee table and stood up. “Thank you for your help.” Jack reached down to take Enid’s hand then lifted it to his lips. She kicked her slippered feet and howled in delight over the attention. I feared the old gal might fall off the sofa she was so giddy.

“Been a long time since a young bloke kissed my hand,” she giggled wickedly.

“I’m going to steal my boy back for just a second,” Jack told her and then jerked his head in the direction of her front door. I followed. We stepped outside into the fog that seemed to be a permanent fixture here. “Okay, I’ve heard enough. There’s something fishy going on here. Deaths being covered up by a small local government sets off all kinds of bells and whistles. I want you to look into things over in Blare’s Way. I’ll head back to Cardiff to return the rental after I take that leaper to Owen for an autopsy.” I suspected the rental company wouldn’t be happy if they discovered Jack had tossed a dead monster into the trunk of that sporty car. “I have paperwork coming out of my ass that needs my attention. Do you want me to contact someone in Blare’s End about a car?”

“No, that’s fine. Enid said I could continue to use her truck if I needed.” We both glanced over at the rusty Studebaker truck parked beside a sleek sportster that Jack had rented for the trip home.

“You’ll turn all the boy’s heads,” he teased and then placed a hand on my shoulder. Our gazes locked. “Your cell phone is to be on at all times.”

“Yes, of course, although it won’t work here,” I pointed out.

“I don’t care. You keep your phone on. If you need anything or uncover something that’s out of your league, call.”

“Jack, I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will be. Keep the damn phone on.” He grabbed a fast, bruising kiss, patted my neck, and then turned on his heel to leave. I lifted a hand as he drove off.

“That man loves you,” Enid said directly behind me, startling me slightly.

“That’s very kind but I'm not sure that’s the case.” I gently took her arm to lead her back to her living room. She shook my hand off.

“Don’t be a daft boy. He’s worried about you, clearly. A man like that isn’t one to cluck about like an old bitty hen over a lone chick unless he cares deeply. Would you like some bread wrapped for your trip to Blare’s End? In case you get peckish?”

“Yes, please, and thank you.” I gave her a smile that she couldn’t see and stood on her stoop watching the rental disappear around a bend. If only I could be as sure about his feelings as Enid seemed to be. “Maybe a thermos of your tea as well, if you have one?” I called over my shoulder, my eyes not yet ready to leave the road he had left by.

 

 

**To Be Continued…**

 


	2. Secret Agent Man - Chapter Two - Tread Lightly

**Secret Agent Man (Ianto Solo)**

**Chapter Two**

**Tread Lightly**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

 

Blare’s End was a step up from Wolcott on the Bog. Actually, it was several steps above The Bog. Shifting the rattletrap Studebaker into a lower gear, I sat at the lone traffic signal and studied the row of shops and buildings as the truck idled and coughed periodically. The was a diner, a small super market, a used book store, and a rather grand – in comparison to the other buildings surrounding it – domed building that proclaimed itself as the town hall. When the signal turned, I pulled off the paved road and parked in front of the municipal center.

Patting my wallet in the back pocket of my trousers, I walked to the front door, paused to adjust my tie and jacket, and then pushed into the lobby. At least I had one suit with me, packed in anticipation of a dinner out up in Holyhead. A tie and nicely pressed jacket just looked more professional than a hoodie and jeans, I felt.

There was no security officer or metal detecting device to be seen. It was quaint and filled me with nostalgia for just a moment. Bombs and terrorists weren’t much of a problem here in Blare’s End it seemed. I walked down a long corridor, passing varied clerks offices. My shoes were soft, the soles well-worn and so I moved down the hall quietly. Pity I had to lose one of my new boots. They’d been costly and the loss nipped at my prudent nature like a Chihuahua after an ankle.

I came to the office of the mayor and knocked on the door frame. A young black chap who was roughly my age lifted his head from his typing. He was a handsome bloke, with a strong jaw and deep brown eyes. His chin had a small cleft. I rather liked that feature on a man. His suit was cheap but well-tailored and tidy.  

“Afternoon,” he called as he stood to greet me. His height and mine were similar as were our builds. We shook. He had a strong grip. “Anything I can help you with?”

I pulled out my wallet and flipped it open. “Ianto Jones. I’m with Torchwood.” He blinked at the ID card. “Special Ops out of Cardiff.” That announcement made his eyes flare. “Can I have a few words with the mayor, or perhaps the local constable? I have some questions about the disappearances that have taken place in Wolcott on the Bog.”

His gaze flickered over my shoulder. I glanced behind me and saw nothing but a potted fern in desperate need of water.

“You say your special ops up from Cardiff?” His voice had dropped to a mere whisper. I nodded, his sudden change from chipper to concerned tweaking my curiosity more than a little. “I _knew_ something was going to come of all that.”

“Come from all of what?”

The phone on his desk rang. The man startled strongly. I inspected a rather ugly painting of an old man in a curly white wig as he took the call.

“Look, this isn’t the time or place to talk, but I want it known that I had nothing to do with any of it,” he told me in a hushed voice after he had hung up.

“Whatever you tell me will be held in strictest confidence. I’ve not gotten your name.”

“Bastian Hollycock.” He shuffled around me, went to the open door, and then stuck his head out into the hallway. He looked left and then right before bringing his attention back to me. “Can you meet me somewhere after I get off work?”

“Of course,” I eagerly agreed. He prattled off the name of a diner – The Green Griddle - on the outskirts of the city limits. I recalled passing it with Jack as we had approached the turn that had led us to that dirt lane where this whole thing had begun. “Any cooperation on your part will be looked upon favorably.”

“Meet me there at six sharp.”

“I’ll be there.”

He nearly shoved me out of the mayor’s office and then gently closed the door in my face. I’d just stepped out of the municipal building when my phone rang in my front pocket. The ring tone made me smile. I let the chorus of Christina Aguilera’s “Ain’t No Other Man” play a time or two and then hit the ‘talk’ button.

“Hello, Jack,” I said while crawling into the ratty interior of my borrowed ride. “Back in Cardiff, are you?”

“I wish. I stopped for gas and an air freshener. A dead leaper makes a horrible stink. How goes it? Got any leads yet?” Hearing his voice soothed my soul. Sometimes it terrified me just how utterly besotted I was with the man.

“As a matter of fact, I do. I’m to meet with a rather nervous clerk named Bastian Hollycock who works in the mayor’s office for dinner.” My gaze touched on the clouds in the sky. A dull gray dove dropped down from a nearby roof to peck at some grit along the road. “He’s claiming innocence already which makes me think he’s into something well over his head.”

“Dinner? Hmm, well, don’t go into this meeting without your firearm.”

“Yes, Jack.” I replied with a small laugh. “Did you know that Enid says you sound like an old bitty hen clucking over a lone chick.” The following fifteen seconds of choking silence quelled any humor or pleasure I had felt about Enid’s little observation. “Of course, she’s been on the bog for too long. Silly old woman.” I rushed to cover the gaffe.

“Yeah, silly old woman. Be careful tonight and make sure your phone is on. I should go. Long drive yet. Be safe.”

“Yes, of course, I will be.” He severed the call. I tossed my phone to the mouse-chewed bench seat, scrunched my face into a tight ball, flung my head backward so it whacked the window behind me, and cursed myself to hell and back for saying what I had.

At times, loving Jack Harkness was like racing blindly through a field littered with land mines. You knew that it was only a matter of time before you lost a limb but still you dashed onward because it was so bloody thrilling.

 

 

**To be continued…**


	3. Secret Agent Man - Chapter Three - Chips and Secrets

**Secret Agent Man (Ianto Solo)**

**Chapter Three**

**Chips and Secrets**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

“Steak and chips please. Cook the steak medium. Coffee as long as it’s freshly perked.” I handed the waitress my menu then placed my elbows to the table. The Green Griddle was doing a brisk business. The server had seated me by the front window as I had asked. The diner was a popular spot, touting homecooked meals at fair prices. The walls were paneled with honeyed oak, the tables covered with yellow clothes that matched the toppers on the windows, and the floor tiles sparkled. If I had a family, this is the kind of place I’d bring them for a meal.

Tiny gold bells rang out as the door opened. An older couple came in and were seated quickly. The server returned with my coffee. She hurried off, her yellow apron standing out against the dull brown of her uniform dress. I stirred some sugar into my coffee, poured some cream in to cool it, then took a tentative sip. It was good, strong, and fresh. I know that I’m a terrible snob about coffee but when one makes as much as I do, one begins to grow critical of poorly made brews.

 I glanced at my watch. I was early, so instead of growing impatient staring out the window, I pulled out my tablet and opened a file labeled “Wolcott Leaper Mystery” and then pulled a Word document up. I began filling the flickering page with the tidbits that I had managed to gather up.

Pausing to take a sip of coffee, my eyes wandered about the diner. People were conversing softly. A young child of perhaps two in a booster seat a few tables down squealed in joy. The sound made me smile into my steaming mug. He was a tow-headed lad, rosy-cheeked and full of energy. His father handed the boy a breadstick to chew on. I’d never spent much time thinking about children, I’d just assumed that I’d have some later in life. Now, they seemed to be everywhere, serving as a reminder of what I had sacrificed for Torchwood. It was a pain that would heal slowly I feared. Perhaps I would have to start spending more time with my sister’s children.

 I half-heard the bells over the door, lost as I was in a melancholy dream of some unattainable fantasy. Bastian hurried over to the table, his shoulders up around his ears. I flipped my tablet over when he sat down on the other side of the tiny table.

“Thank you for coming.” The server arrived with my dinner. Bastian ordered coffee, his eyes darting about like a dragonfly. “You seem worried,” I commented then sat back to allow the waitress to place his coffee in front of him. He watched the server with distrust until she disappeared into the kitchen. “Why don’t you have a sip of coffee and calm yourself?”

 “I’m not cut out for this kind of shit,” he mumbled while dumping a mound of sugar into his mug. He whipped the hot brown liquid violently. “I’m a secretary, you know? My days are supposed to be filled with filing and mundane things, not cover-ups and busted kneecaps.”

“I fully understand.” I dug into the interior pocket of my suit jacket then laid my phone on the table. Bastian regarded the cell phone warily. “I’d like to tape what you’re going to say, is that acceptable?”

He glanced around the diner, nodded once, and then started talking. I hurried to bring up the recorder function to capture his story.

“I’m new there,” he began. “I want that known right off. I’m only on the job four months last week.”

 “Understood.” I pushed my platter to the side. Elbows on the table, I gave him my full attention.

 “It’s been going on for years. The mayor, the constable, hell most of the people who work there in city hall know about it.” He nicked one of my chips and gobbled it down.

 “Know about what, exactly, Mr. Hollycock?”  

 “The dumping that goes on over at Wolcott on the Bog,” he whispered then stole a few more chips. I pushed my plate to him. “I’m not sure what they’re hauling there, but it’s under any governmental radars.”

 “Who’s doing this dumping?” The lad with the breadsticks began to whine. The clatter of dishes and silverware being dumped into a sink leeched out of the kitchen.

  “The Lorenz Twins.” Bastian was now hacking on my steak with a serrated knife. He forked a large bite and waved it at me. “Two bloody hoodlums who run the largest refuse hauling company in northern Wales. I hear they bust kneecaps first and ask questions later.”

 “And you say you have no idea of what they’re hauling to the bog?” He shook his head while chewing loudly. My steak looked delicious, hot, and juicy, with lots of pink in the middle.

 “Not one. I only enter the paperwork into the mayor’s computer. Never any listing of exactly what they’re hauling out there, only ‘refuse disposal’ noted on the invoices with no destination but I overheard the mayor once, on the phone, talking about Wolcott and how easy it was to dump and run.” He grabbed a bottle of ketchup and covered the meat and chips. “Look, I’m just some poor office boy. I know you got no idea what that’s like being a big fancy agent from Torchwood in Cardiff, but there’s so much what goes on behind closed doors that I’m usually standing around with empty tea mugs in my hands looking like a damn wanker.”

“You’d be surprised at how deeply I can relate to that,” I mumbled. “Is there any chance you can get me into the mayor’s office?”

His brown eyes went as round as the plate that held my quickly disappearing dinner. “Oh no, nope, no way.” He looked truly scared. “If someone sees us they’ll toss me into the rubbish and haul me off to the bog.”

“It would take me no longer than ten minutes to get the information I need and send it to a colleague of mine in Cardiff. I’d be there as well and fully armed.” I wheedled and prayed my wheedling was as good as Jack’s. Bastian stared into my eyes, exhaled dramatically, and then gave me a fast nod. “Thank you. Your cooperation is greatly appreciated. Shall we go?”

 I grabbed my phone, made sure the conversation had been saved, and then drained my coffee.

 “Can I finish my dinner?”

I thought to correct him about it being _my_ dinner, but I let the man eat. It was the least I could do to repay him for sticking his neck out. Hopefully I could keep him safe when I started tossing murder accusations at these Lorenz goons. And the mayor. And the local law enforcement. Maybe washing out mugs all day wasn’t so bad after all…

 

**To be continued…**

           


	4. Secret Agent Man - Chapter Four - A Little B&E Among Friends

**Secret Agent Man (Ianto Solo)**

**Chapter Four**

**A Little B & E Among Friends**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

Everything went well until Bastian and I entered the mayor’s outer office. A cleaning woman looked up, screamed, and threw her bottle of window cleaner at us.

“It’s okay, Jean, it’s just me Bastian.” He reached out and grabbed my hand. I whipped him with a dark look. “And me new boyfriend. We were heading out to grab a bite and I forgot that I had left some work on the computer that I needed to take home.”

“Fucking nob, you scared the shit out of me,” the portly woman snapped. Bastian smiled sweetly at her as she gathered up her window cleaner then flung it into a small tote. “Next time don’t be sneaking in on a person, you git.”

“She’s quite friendly.” I shook his fingers out from between mine. He didn’t seem offended by the rude gesture.

“Yep, a real doll that one. Come on, she won’t be gone long.” He rushed to the door that separated Bastian’s space from the mayor’s. With a quick swipe of his key card we were in. I hustled over to a mahogany desk as big as a small sedan.

“Someone’s got cash,” I whispered, dropped down into a plush leather office chair, and powered up the older model computer. Within seconds I was staring at the mayor’s files. With a couple keystrokes I launched a neat little program that I’d had been tinkering with. It could scuttle through a person’s database, and open any locked or zipped files in mere seconds. Granted, I was no Toshiko Santo, but I wasn’t a computer slouch either. A soft ping announced that everything the mayor had on his computer was now available for me to read. I began downloading the files to a flash drive and to the main computer banks at the Hub.

 I removed my mobile from the pocket of my coat, propped it against the base of the desktop monitor, and rang Jack. He picked up quickly and sent us to video conference. Bastian stepped behind me, dropped an arm around my shoulder, and then began to drool all over my jacket.

 “Who the hell is that? He’s fucking _gorgeous!_ ” Bastian commented. I shrugged to try to dislodge the man but it failed. Jack leaned forward, a cocky smile pulling up one side of his mouth.

“It’s my boss.” I wanted to sigh but held it in. Jack _was_ gorgeous but hearing people say it all the time rankled a bit.

“Shit, I’d be gobbling that man’s cock daily, and no need for a pay raise, eh?” Bastian laughed wickedly.

“Why don’t you go out and keep an eye open for the cleaning woman?” I snipped at the mayor’s aide.

“Want to keep him all for yourself? I don’t blame you.” Bastian pecked my cheek and then left. My sight touched on Jack’s through the phone. He had lost that smug smile and now looked pinched. I chose to brush off the demonstrative office worker’s comments and actions.

“You’ll never believe what I’m doing right now.”

 “Does it involve a sling?” Jack rested his arms on his desk back in Cardiff. The man had amazing forearms. I stared at them for a second as his question sank in.

 “A what? Oh, no, _no!_ ”

 “Good. I want to be the one to introduce you to that.”

I grew woozy due to all the blood rushing from my head to my dick. “I – Yes, well, I’m searching an office.”

 “As I recall you get a little flirty in offices.  Is Brigham poking around in your confidential files? You two seem rather cozy.” Jack threw me some side-eye.

The air conditioner came on and blew chilled air over the back of my neck. “It’s Bastian and he’s out in the reception area on sentry as you heard. Why are you being so petty? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.”

 “Mrph.” A grunt? _Really?_ Seemed rather slack for the witty Captain Jack Harkness. Had I _actually_ made the man feel a twinge of possessiveness?

 “That was eloquent.” The look he gave me was scathing, which reinforced the thought that I had struck a nerve.

“As if I’d be jealous of some skinny little civil servant who types and takes dictation for a living,” Jack snapped with no small amount of venom.

“Glad to hear you’re not jealous because you certainly sound it. Oh, and just as a reminder, _I_ type and take dictation.”

Mr. Harkness grew silent of a sudden. “His typing and dictation aren’t as important as yours.”

“There you go,” I flippantly tossed out. “I’ll send the files along to you so you can inspect what I’ll be seeing as soon as I get to my laptop. I’m off to dump the refuse bins, make coffee, and tidy up the magazines.”

“Ianto, I didn’t mean…”

I turned the phone off before he could complete his half-hearted apology. I stood up with such anger the chair wheeled back and slammed into the wall. Knowing I was tossing myself like a child, I still took a moment to rattle an old metal filing cabinet a time or two.

“Fucking Jack Harkness,” I growled before yanking a drawer on the filing cabinet open. I took a handful of fat, Manilla envelopes and shoved them under my arm. Bastian spun around from his position by the outer office door when I slammed out of the Mayor’s office. “Let’s go. I have what I need.”

“You want any help reading over those?” He jerked his chin at the folders under my arm. My initial reaction was to tell him no, that I’d handle it alone. His touchy-feely ways set me on edge but I was too hurt and too mad to make a sensible call.

“That would be good, thank you.”

“My flat’s just around the block.” He ran a hand down my arm, the invitation clear.

“Let’s go then.”

 

**To be continued…**

 


	5. Secret Agent Man - Chapter Five - Mistakes and Midnight Musings

**Secret Agent Man (Ianto Solo)**

**Chapter Five**

**Mistakes and Midnight Musings**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

I knew I had made a mistake as soon as I entered Bastian’s tiny flat above a garage. It wasn’t because the place was small or looked like it had been tossed on its head. Not everyone kept house as I did. Obviously, the man had little cash and no dust cloths. Which was typical of young men my age. Funny how I felt removed from my generation in many ways. No, it wasn’t his lack of tidiness or money, it was the way that I felt as soon as the door closed behind me.

“So, here we are,” he said after dashing to the dorm fridge sitting beside a bowed and battered couch. “Why don’t you loosen your tie and we’ll get to business.” He offered me a swig of his beer, his dark eyes moving over me. I shook my head.

“Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea,” I started with. He quickly stepped into my space. I held my ground. He pressed against me, his breath hot and moist as it flickered over my lips.

“Why don’t you loosen up a bit?” The kiss was not a surprise. He had come into it slowly. I let my eyes drift shut, the folders held to my chest. Still feeling piqued at Jack, I thought to test the waters a bit. I’d never been with any other man but Jack because…well, because. Bastian kissed nicely. He wasn’t sloppy or overly demanding. His breath was tinted with hops and barley, a taste that I enjoyed. He did everything right but the hot stab of desire never occurred. So, I deepened the kiss, trying to force myself to feel the heat that kissing Jack brought on.

“I’m sorry, this just isn’t for me.” I stepped back. His hand, which had been resting on my hip, fell to his side. “I’m sort of seeing someone.”

“Is it your boss?”

“No, not him. He’s died too many times and its killed his heart,” I muttered then shook off the lingering pain of the set-down Jack had given me. “My heads just not in this. Please, don’t take offense, you kiss quite nicely.”

“Right, nicely. Well, at least you’re honest. I envy the man that has your heart.”

“That’s kind of you.” I felt awkward now. “I’m going to head back to the bog and work on my report. Thank you for everything. Your help was greatly appreciated.” I held out my hand. We shook and I left as quickly as possible, jogging back to the town hall and diving into the Studebaker as if it were a fortress of solitude. If only I had superpowers. Like the ability to see into men’s hearts. Maybe a golden lasso that made people speak the truth would be better. Wrapping a certain time agent up in that magical rope and dropping a few pointed questions on his fat head sounded good.

“Damn you, Jack,” I sighed, cranked the old truck over, and rattled back to Wolcott on the Bog. Enid’s ramshackle house was dark when I pulled up. I killed the engine and sat there in the dark, staring out at the wetlands, lost in thought. The moon was up. The water was flat and ivory-colored. Frog calls rolled into the cab through the open window on my right. My mind, traitorous thing that it is, went to memories of Jack. Nothing new there. The man possessed my thoughts all day long.

_“This time tomorrow he’ll be back in nineteen eighteen.”_

_“His own time. Would you go back to yours? If you could?”_

_“Why? Would you miss me?”_

_“Yep.”_

I missed him now. Terribly. Even though he had been harsh and curt, my body and soul ached for the man. Love was so painful, why did we humans keep seeking it?

“Oi, you dead in there?”

I jumped and flailed just a bit. Enid beat on the passenger side door with her cane. Heart thundering, I gathered myself and leaned over to unlock the door. In she climbed wearing a housecoat and slippers. Did she have no other clothing?

“I thought you were asleep. The lights were out.” I stared back out at the wetlands.

“I’m blind, you big nob. I don’t need lights.”

“Oh, right, yes. Sorry, I’m a bit distracted tonight.” She clucked a few times, not unlike a chicken. “Do you do that often? Make chicken noises?”

“You really are a lobcock at times.” She giggled like an old witch. All we needed were some kids skipping by leaving bread crumbs behind them to complete the picture. “You’re mooning over your Jack, the man who loves you but hasn’t the stones to say so but fusses like an old hen.”

“Wonderful. So, every time _you_ think I’m thinking about Jack, you’re going to cluck like a chicken?”

“Every damn time.” She laughed again. It made the fine hairs on my neck stand up. “Stop sitting here staring at the night and sighing like some tween girl reading about fucking sparkly vampires. Grow a pair and tell that charming bastard to man up and tell you he loves you or you’ll go find someone who will.”

“There’s no one on this planet that I’d rather be with.”

“Well, find someone from outer space then.” She poked at the radio knobs with the end of her cane. “Damn radio died in the early sixties. I miss Chubby Checker.”

I chuckled. “Maybe I should fire up the subwave network and call The Doctor.” If there were one man that I _might_ consider tossing Jack aside for, it would a certain time lord. Well, maybe not _toss_ Jack aside. A ménage might not be out of the question. Rolling around in a big bed with those two was quite appealing. All those muscular arms and legs bared and intertwined…

Enid cracked me in the knee with her cane. I yelped and grabbed my leg.

“There you go, getting all het up. I can smell it. I don’t think no doctor has a cure for what ails you.” What did she know? She’d never seen the man. “Stop being a ninny and give as good as you get with your man. I’m going to bed. You can sleep on the couch. Watch out for Rupert. He’s not keen on strange men.”

Off she went, leaving me with a throbbing kneecap, some God-awful advice about tweaking Jack, and a need to know who – or what – Rupert was.

 

**To be continued…**

 

 


	6. Secret Agent Man - Chapter Six - My Badge is Bigger Than Yours

**Secret Agent Man (Ianto Solo)**

**Chapter Six**

**My Badge is Bigger Than Yours**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

It’s a very unsettling thing to come awake and feel that you’re being watched. As is not knowing where you are and not quite grasping why someone has placed a heavy sandbag on your chest. The sandbag then reached out to swat me on the nose. The sandbag had claws. I gave the massive black cat seated on my chest a dark look.

“You can get down. Go. Shoo.” He stared at me with bright yellow cat eyes. I made another foolish attempt to grab the cat. He hissed and popped his claws. I yanked my hand back. 

“Sounds like you’ve met Rupert.” I tried to locate my hostess but all I could see were stacks of periodicals and a cat. She reached over the back of the couch, plucking the big feline off my chest. Kissing and stroking broke out. Rupert appeared to be in his glory. I sat up slowly, my neck stiff and my mouth mossy. “Isn’t he a beauty?”

“Yes, he’s quite the fellow,” I remarked then threw my feet to the floor. The aroma of bread baking filled the old house. The blanket I had used lay across my lap.

“I named him after Rupert Grint because he’s a handsome ginger.” She dropped the cat back to the couch. He took another swipe at me, this one barely missing my arm.

“Um, I’m not sure if you know this, but your cat isn’t a ginger. He’s black.” I held my arm to my chest to keep it from the miserable feline.

“No, he’s not. He’s a ginger.”

“No, he’s really not. He’s black.”

“Don’t be arguing with me boy. I know a ginger when I pet one.”

I opened my mouth then snapped it shut. Was there really any point in arguing further? “Oh yes, of course, that was my mistake. Once he’s in the light I can plainly see he’s ginger and not black.” I rose from the couch, stretched, and worked out the kinks.

“Foolish city boy, trying to tell a Bogger what color a cat is. Go wash up, the bread and coddled eggs will be done soon.” She patted her cat on the head and then patted me on the face. How wonderful it was to be included. Leaving the hissing cat, I climbed the creaking steps to the second floor, found and used the bathroom. The house we had billeted in was the Queen’s sleeping chamber compared to Enid’s house. Mold and mildew mottled the walls. The grout was black, the sink filthy, and I won’t even discuss the condition of the loo. Washing and shaving was done with expediency. Not daring to peek into the shower, I simply smeared some deodorant under my arms and prayed for the best.  

Finding Enid seated on the couch when I came down, I sat down beside her and poured myself a cup of her amazing tea. On the table was a platter with hot brown bread and a plate filled with coddled eggs. The cat had pilfered one of the eggs and was eating it on the floor.

“Eat up,” Enid instructed with a poke of her fork at the food.

“Thank you, I am rather hungry. My contact ate my dinner last night.” Feeling rather hoggish, I none the less filled a chipped plate with eggs and bread and balanced it on my knees.

“Have you found out anything about why no one never gave a shite about us Boggers?”

“Mm, yes, well, I’m rather sure I have.” I dabbed at my chin with my handkerchief since I saw no napkins. I’d changed out of my lone suit and had pulled on jeans and the only clean shirt left to me, a short-sleeved cotton button down. “The evidence is quite strong. I have to go to town and contact one of my colleagues back in Cardiff to see if she’s found anything encrypted or more deeply buried than what my program had discovered.”

“So, Agent Jones, are you one hundred percent queer or do you knock boots with the birds too?”

Thankfully, I was saved from replying to that query by a couple sharp knocks on the door. “Praise God,” I mumbled as I rose. I hurried to the door. Pulling it open I found a squat, dark-haired man with a large nose standing on the lawn. He gave me a once over and pulled out a badge which he flashed at me.

“Horace Pipperman, Constable of Blare’s End.”

I pulled out my wallet and flashed my badge. “Ianto Jones, Agent of Torchwood.” That should get me a leg up in the jurisdictional pissing contest.

“Torchwood?” His mouth dropped into a frown. “Never heard of it.”

“No, you wouldn’t have.” I pocketed my wallet. “It’s above your clearance levels.”

His scowl deepened. I folded my arms over my chest. “Well, Mr. Jones from Torchwood, mind if I enquire about what it is you and your fancy badge are doing out here?”

“That’s need to know. Have a good day, Constable.” I walked back into Enid’s house and closed the door in Horace Pipperman’s enraged face.

I heard Enid sniggering in the living room and had to give into a snicker myself. After I had been stuffed full with warm bread and coddled eggs, I made the drive to Blare’s End, cruising past the municipal building. I passed several red and yellow refuse vehicles, all bearing the logo of the Lorenz  Refuse Company on their doors. Curiosity nearly pushed me into following them, but I pulled into a small lot behind the municipal building and took a walk as I made my call to the Hub. Being spotted on their tail in daylight would not aid my case. I paused at the corner of the town hall and leaned a shoulder to the old red brick, eager to look at the face of a friend.

“Ianto, it’s so good to hear from you,” Tosh said enthusiastically. I smiled back. “I’ve just been tinkering with the files you sent me. Pretty basic stuff. Nothing too difficult to crack open.” She pushed her glasses up her nose then began tapping away at her keyboard. She looked cute today, with her dark hair pulled into a sloppy bun atop her head. I could see Owen and Gwen moving about but no sign of Jack. Not that I cared to see him. My wound was still tender. “There was one file that was zipped up tighter than the rest, but still amateur work at best. It’s a listing of dates and weights, also, where the refuse is being picked up. I’ll send that along to your cell.”

“Thank you.” I glanced up from the incoming images of invoices when a car went past. It rolled on and so I returned to my conversation. “Looks like they’re making runs from the Horifax Chemical plant in Bangor.”

“Yes, and it’s a bi-weekly dump. Ianto, are these people dumping chemical refuse into a Defra protected wetland?”

“Dear God,” I whispered as I scrolled over years and years’ worth of incriminating evidence. Perhaps this explained the leapers. Mutation from chemical dumping? “It looks that way. I’m going to get all of this into a report and then contact the Department of Environment, Food, and Rural Affairs. I’d like to see if I can catch them dumping on film. We’ll also have to dredge the bog for bodies.”

“Good idea. Can I help in any way?” I exited out of the file and stared into Tosh’s soft brown eyes.

“You’ve already been incredibly helpful. I’m just planning a little stakeout with my handy-dandy Torchwood infrared phone and video ap. Um, perhaps you could patch me through to Jack so I can update him?”

“He’s off doing something. Been gone since yesterday.”

“Oh? What kind of something?” I asked nonchalantly.

She shrugged. “Who knows. He goes off all the time and tells us nothing, you know that. Actually, we were hoping you’d know since you and he are…well, you two are…”

“I’ve not a clue. He doesn’t confide in me about everything on his agenda just because we’re dating.” There I said it aloud. Fuck you, Jack. Tosh nodded just once. “Well, if he comes in tell him to contact me. I’ll be heading to the Defra main office in London tomorrow morning as soon as I have all my I’s dotted and my T’s crossed.”

“Be careful, Ianto. These kinds of innocuous things can sometimes blow up out of control. If you need help, you’ve only got to call.”

“Thanks for your concern, but it’s just a night on the wetlands.” I smiled, ended the call, and then eased the old truck into gear.

Looked like a long, lonely night in a foul-smelling bog lay ahead of me. And they say being a secret agent is nothing but thrills, danger, and kissing persuasive lips. I’d just about convinced myself that my first case would be a dry and boring one when I found myself in a spot of trouble leaving Blare’s End. Coming down a rather steep hill, my brakes went out. The old truck careened off the solitary one lane and flew into a ditch. It was quite a ride. I bounced out of my seat, my forehead cracking off the windshield when the truck came to a sudden and jarring stop.

“And that is why new cars have seatbelts,” I groaned, reaching up to tenderly touch the goose egg at my hairline. I drew my fingers back and saw some blood on my fingertips.

I eased myself out of the truck, walked around the Studebaker to shake off the nerves, and then dropped down to one knee to check the brake lines. Not to my surprise, the line was cleanly sliced. I stood up and wiped my hands on my pants, the dark brown fluid leaving tracks on my jeans. Do these idiots honestly think a severed brake line will put a Torchwood agent off the case? I’d seen an alien that absorbs humans during orgasm and ones that suck the breath out of small children. I’d seen my girlfriend slowly turn into a cybernetic killer then be gunned down by my mates and the man I love. I’d been sized up for rump roasts by cannibals. They’d have to do better than a severed brake line to scare me.

 

**To be continued…**

 


	7. Secret Agent Man - Chapter Seven - Beware of Foreshadowing, Agent Jones

**Secret Agent Man (Ianto Solo)**

**Chapter Seven**

**Beware of Foreshadowing, Agent Jones**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

 

After a long walk to the bog, I was beyond mad. I was now living in the land of massively pissed off. Also, I had no clean clothes and what I did have on smelled of brake fluid and cat urine. Sitting alongside the bog that night, I dreamed of returning to Cardiff to shower, get clean clothes, and maybe sleep in a bed that I didn’t have to share with a nasty pussy.

The now waning moon rolled up slowly into the black sky. Enid had packed me a light snack of buttered bread in a paper sack and tea in a thermos. She was an odd one. She’d pamper and fuss about me but then turn around and be incredibly abrasive. Old women were crazy at times. I shifted around, the seat of my jeans now wet from the marshy ground. I so wanted some creature comforts and Jack. I’d not heard a peep from him since I had hung-up on him. Of course, I’d been on the Bog with no cell or internet service so perhaps he had tried to call… or perhaps not. Whatever. Who cares. Not Ianto Jones. Tea. I needed tea.

 The lid of the thermos unscrewed with ease. I filled the little plastic cup and took a small sip feeling instantly reinvigorated. I’d chosen to secret myself at the base of a thick weeping willow. The tendrils hid me well. Hearing the lorries coming wouldn’t be an issue. When they rolled up I’d then part the trees tendrils, tape the dumping of what had to be illegal chemicals into the bog, and then sneak back to Enid’s undetected.

Early in the morning I would walk out of the Bog until I had service and send my findings off to Defra after speaking with someone in power there. Driving to London was now impossible since the Studebaker needed new brake lines. Knowing I would have shell out cash for a rental yet again rankled a bit, but it was either that or ask for a ride from Jack. I’d sooner walk to Cardiff than make that call. I wasn’t quite ready to drop to my knees in front of that man yet. And why the _fuck_ did that saying make me yearn for him yet again?

“Damn the man,” I grumbled into my steaming tea. All my mental trails led me back to Jack Harkness. It was damn pathetic to be honest, but there it was just the same.

A warm taste of tea slipped over my tongue at the same time the rumble and roar of a large truck’s engine bounced over the bog. I sat up straight, chucked my tea aside, and readied my camera set-up. Hidden well, I rose to my knees. The ground rumbled as truck after truck passed. The willows tendrils shifted back and forth with each refuse vehicle that blew by. Back to the trunk of the willow, I scuttled around the massive tree. The rubbish haulers pulled off the main road, the stink of diesel mixing with the sour smell of the people lost to the leapers. Just thinking of all those lives lost due to greed made me sick.

The convoy rolled back and forth, each vehicle backing around so that they could simply lift and dump their contents. Dropping to one knee to steady myself, I raised my phone and hit the camera button. The infrared app designed by Tosh fired up.

“Got you, you bastards,” I whispered as the hydraulics on one dustcart then another began to lift the hoppers into the air. I’d gotten perhaps ninety seconds of film when a massive fireball lit up the night sky. The fire mushroomed like a nuclear explosion. I shielded my eyes from the intense light. My brain shut down for a few seconds and then made a snapping connection.

“Enid,” I gasped and shot to my feet. Someone had blown up the old woman’s house. What else could it be? Heart in my throat I raced off, avoiding the refuse dumping taking place, my phone in my left hand and my gun in my right. There was no worry about tripping over something in the dark. The house fire lit up a wide area. I skidded to a halt, mouth hanging open, lungs working double time, to see that the back of Enid’s home was gone, one flaming wall was all that held the upper level up. It must have been that old gas stove that had blown. And the gas was still flowing, feeding the fire. I shoved my phone into my back pocket and ran into the inferno, arms over my head.

“ _Enid!_ ” The roar of the hungry flames made hearing difficult. Sparks and bits of burning timber fluttered downward, landing on my arms and back. I pushed on, shouting as loudly as I could, determined to find the old gal. The living room was fully engulfed, the heat nearly unbearable. There she lay, on her back, one frail arm bent under her. I kicked aside a burning table, gathered her up, and ran out the front door, embers burning through my shirt to blister my shoulders and neck.

She came too as I laid her to the soggy soil, her wrinkled face smeared with soot. The old woman whimpered when I ran a hand over her left arm.

“Rupert,” she hacked violently, cradling her arm to her chest. I gave the home a fast glance and shook my head.

“There’s no way he could have made it,” I told her, using my light jacket as a sling for her injured arm. She began to cry. I tied the sleeves around her neck with care. Something leaped onto my back. I yelped and ripped Rupert off my left shoulder. He took considerable amounts of flesh with him. “And then again perhaps he did make it.” I dropped the beast into her lap. Her skinny legs were bruised and bleeding. She had been blown out of her slippers.

“Rupert, Rupert, Rupert,” Enid said repeatedly as she stroked the cat.

I slowly got to my feet, my attention on the old woman and her cat. A bullet whizzed by my head. Enid cried out at the report. I spun and shot at the dark figure charging at me. I was taken off my feet by the football tackle and hit the ground hard, my breath leaving me in a rush. My firearm bounced over to where Enid sat. The constable placed his gun to my forehead and chuckled as if he had won the day. Sad thing was it looked as if he had.

 

**To be continued…**


	8. Secret Agent Man - Chapter Eight - Respect Earned

**Secret Agent Man (Ianto Solo)**

**Chapter Eight**

**Respect Earned**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

“Guess you’re not quite so high and fucking mighty now, are you, Agent Jones from Torchwood?” Constable Pipperman asked, the cold end of his barrel between my eyes.

“Did you do this?” I enquired, his face, lit by the flames, was twisted in pleasure. I hoped that was due to him having a gun on me and not because his fat ass was on my crotch. “Did you try to kill her?”

“Dead women and fancy agents from secret government agencies tell no tales.” Oh, he was smug, the prick.

“We’re outside the government and beyond the police.” I’d always wanted to use that line. He shifted forward, leaning down to smash his face into mine, the end of that cold barrel coming under my chin. “If you kiss me I will kill you slowly,” I ground out. Pipperman spit in my face.

I will admit that it takes a bit to push me over the edge. Perhaps it had just been a bad forty-eight hours but when his spittle hit my cheek, I sort of lost control for a moment. We battled valiantly for possession of the gun. The man could shoot me if he wanted but I was not going to fall into the dark nothingness of death without cleaning this bastard’s clock.

I got a bit of a helping hand in the form of a cat who, it seemed, disliked Constable Pipperman even more than he did me. Rupert flew at the man with the gun. Pipperman tossed up an arm to shield his face from the black menace. Using the distraction to my advantage, I bucked up, tossed the man to the side just a bit, and doubled my efforts. I got both hands around his wrist. Pipperman snarled. A bullet hit the ground an inch from my head, throwing clumps of wet dirt into my face. Rupert ran off. Enid began shouting. The house burned violently, small minor explosions taking place as I struggled to wrench the gun from Pipperman’s grip.

The man was strong but old and out of shape. The tussle with me was sapping him quickly. The top floor of the house collapsed with a loud crash, flames, and chunks of burning wood billowing outward in a wave. Pipperman cried out as the rush of smoke and hot air hit him. I twisted his wrist as hard as I could. I heard something crack. A finger maybe or a bone in his wrist. He screamed. I pulled the gun from his fingers and fired a round into his shoulder. He toppled off me, writhing in agony.

I staggered to my feet, handgun pointed at the crooked constable flailing and kicking about on the ground.

“No one spits in my face,” I growled, unbelievably tempted to kick him in the jowls. I didn’t, but there are days where I wish I had. Giving Enid a fast peek I then dragged the dirty police officer around the back of the house, him wailing about bleeding to death, and threw him into the cruiser he had parked among the willows and bushes behind what used to be Enid’s house. I used his own handcuffs to secure him. It was only then that I reached up to clean the spittle from my face.

Within five minutes I had Enid seated beside me in Pipperman’s blue and yellow cruiser, that damn cat curled on her lap.

“Where’s the nearest emergency department?” I asked of the old gal hugging her cat.

“Other side of the county,” she informed me. I pushed the gas pedal down a little harder, my worry not for the man bleeding out in the back seat, but for the old woman with the possibly broken arm at my left. “Make the left here.”

As we flew along back roads I made good use of the police radio in Pipperman’s car. By the time we arrived at the hospital in a town called Ripley Square, several officers of the law and two environmental protection agents were waiting for us. I made sure Enid was taken care of before I went off to share my findings with the law. I suppose someone had gone to fish Pipperman out of the back seat. I truly didn’t care if he had died back there.

It was dawn when things settled. Enid was going to be held for a few hours. She was stressed and dehydrated but her arm was thankfully not broken, just baldy twisted and sore. Pipperman had been admitted and was under armed guard. And the boys from Defra were spreading out to pick up everyone involved in the illegal dumping operation. I meandered to the cafeteria on the second floor, grabbed a large coffee and a tuna fish sandwich, and went to the police cruiser parked outside the emergency department.

Rupert gave me a hiss and a swat in greeting when I sat down behind the steering wheel.

“So, Rupert, I suppose I owe you some thanks for leaping into the fray as you did.” I tore open the container that held the tuna on rye. “That was rather brave of you.” The black cat glowered at me from the passenger seat. “Okay, it was majorly ballsy. You have my respect.” I tossed a bite of tuna fish sandwich to him.

He gobbled it up and looked at me for more. I bit back a yawn, took a sip of coffee that was not good at all, and fed the damn cat half my breakfast. Watching the sun come up I knew I had some work ahead of me. My report had to be filled out and I had to figure out what to do with Enid. She was now homeless because of me. I peeked over at Rupert. He’d fallen asleep with his nose tucked under his bent tail. Looked like I needed to find a home for a crotchety old woman _and_ a miserable cat. And then there was returning to work to face Jack.

“Maybe we’ll just relax here a bit longer,” I said to the cat slumbering away beside me. I had no clue what to say to Jack, so I began plotting out my report in my mind. Better to focus on something I could control and leave the topsy-turvy romance with my boss for later. After a shower. And a nap. And a clean pair of socks.

 

**To be continued…**


	9. Secret Agent Man - Chapter Nine - Kudos

**Secret Agent Man (Ianto Solo)**

**Chapter Nine**

**Kudos**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

Stepping through the blast door two days later I paused, my hand resting on one of the damp, cold bars of the prisonlike cage that followed. My fellow Torchwood agents all stood at their stations, applauding, whistling, and cheering. I could feel the blush racing up my neck. Then, amid all the back-clapping and cheek kissing, I looked up and saw Jack looking down on me from his office.

He wore the same expression now as he had when I had slunk back following the fiasco with Lisa. Even the slight inclination of his head was similar, but now a fire that had not been in his gaze back then burned brightly. I smiled, I told the story of my first case a few times, and ate a fat cupcake. After the kudos from my friends I climbed up to the second floor, my dress shoes loud on the metal stairs that spiraled upward.

He waited for me in his office. I stopped just inside his sanctum and swept his area quickly. It was so Jack. Huge circular desk, monitors flashing blue images of various investigations. Even the twin lamps on his desk screamed his name.

“Welcome back,” he said, his ass resting against the edge of his desk, arms folded and ankles crossed. He was in dark trousers and a solid green long-sleeved shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows to show off those sexy forearms. His dark hair was tousled and rakish. He looked incredible. “Congratulations are in order. You did an amazing job, put the bad guys in jail, and eased the restless souls of those murdered for greed. Oh, and I read that you’ve saved Enid and her cat.”

“Thank you, Sir.” I stayed rooted to the spot, my fingers brushing the top of the metal yellow railing that ran around the entrance to his office. “I’ve put her up in a small flat close to my building. She’ll be happy there, I think. Lots of old ladies with cats to chatter with.”

“You’re going to pay to keep her in Cardiff?”

“Yes, well, the loss of her home _was_ my fault.” Looking at him was terribly difficult. I wished it weren’t. “The rental on her flat isn’t that much. I can afford it. And passing by a few times a week to check on her won’t be that much of a burden.” He said nothing in reply. I glanced up from my shoes after a moment or two ticked by.

“You are a good man, Ianto Jones.”

“I kissed him, Jack.” It tumbled out of me. Jack’s one eyebrow twitched.

“You kissed who? Burpington, the mayor’s office boy?” He pinned me to the wall with a look.

“Bastian. His name is Bastian. And yes, I kissed him.” This was not supposed to be coming out now. I had planned to tell him later, when we were alone, not here where the others would hear him laugh at me for confessing my guilt about a mediocre kiss. As if he’d be worried about me snogging some other man.

“I know his name,” Jack replied brusquely. “I passed it along to a friend of mine in the CIA.” I blinked stupidly. “The boy showed some real guts in blowing the whistle. Now he’s got a better job with higher pay in beautiful Washington D.C.”

“He’s in America?” I felt like my brain was a few seconds behind the rest of the world.

“He is. Way across the pond.”

“That was kind of you to find him a good job.”

“Don’t praise me for being altruistic, Ianto. I shipped his handsome ass off because I didn’t like how he touched you.”

“Oh _._ ” _Brilliant repartee, Ianto. Truly. Mind boggling dialog._ “Honesty becomes you, Jack.”

“But jealousy doesn’t. Come here. Let me taste the cupcake icing on your lips.” He opened his arms. I went to him because there was no way on this earth that I could do otherwise. Jack took my face between his hands, tipped my head, and kissed me like he had never kissed me before. I wound my arms around him, tugging him as close as I could. He pulled back. “Why did you kiss him?”

“I was hurt and trying to see if another man’s kiss would drive you from my mind.” I leaned into him, pressing my hip into his groin. I heard his breath flutter lightly at the contact.

“Do you think I’m that easily forgotten, Ianto?”

“No.” I latched onto the back of his thick neck and pulled his mouth to mine. “Never forgotten,” I murmured over his lips, His fingers still rested on my cheeks. His eyes flamed with emotions that made me sickly and sappy and stiff. When we broke apart again we both were close to falling into the mindless pit where one of us – me - would be bent over that big hard desk. Jack’s hot, short breaths fanned my face.

“Glad to hear it. Why don’t you go home, stir up something to eat, and we’ll talk about this kiss with Bishop when I get there.” His fingertips roamed over my jaw and neck.

“Bastian, and I can work today, really.”

“No, you _really_ can’t. I want to spend the rest of the day making love to you. Or we can start things off here if you want,” he gently teased. “Maybe the others can join in.”

“I’ll pass. I have no wish to see Owen naked.” I took a few steps in reverse to get some cool air between us. Jack gave me a long, slow look.

“Nice suit.” He smiled suggestively. “Shame about those jeans of yours. They hugged your ass so nicely. Brake fluid is a bitch to get out.”

“I’m sorry?” I stared at him openly as my mind kicked into gear. “How do you know about those?”

The self-assured look fell from his face just a bit. “It was in your report.”

“No, no it was not. Why would I make mention of a pair of ruined jeans in an official report?”

Gwen’s laugh bounced around us.

“Go home, Ianto. Cook some food, something loaded with lots of carbs. We’ll need the energy.”

I thought to argue. I should have probably, but I didn’t. Picking my battles was a skill I needed to cultivate.

“Would you like toasted garlic bread with the spaghetti?”

“Yes, and wine. Oh, and Ianto?” His blue eyes met mine as I started down the ramp. “How do you feel about being the appetizer?”

“Does that mean you’re the main course?”

He waggled his brows.

I couldn’t get to the supermarket fast enough.

 

**To be concluded…**

 


	10. Secret Agent Man - Chapter Ten - Someone's in the Kitchen with Ianto

**Secret Agent Man (Ianto Solo)**

**Chapter Ten**

**Someone’s in the Kitchen with Ianto**

(Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.)

I was aware of his presence as soon as he entered my flat. Even though I had music playing in the background as I made sauce and got water boiling, my skin tingled in a way that it only did when Jack Harkness was nearby. Hearing him wasn’t necessary for that reaction. I glanced to the doorway. He filled it. I laid down the knife I’d been chopping peppers with lest I slice off a finger while admiring the way his coat fit.

“The wine’s chilling,” I told him. He nodded, removed his great coat, tossed it over the back of a kitchen chair, and walked to me standing beside the stove. Our gazes never wavered from each other. My cock began to plump from a mere look. As he passed the stove he turned off the heat to the water and sauce. I raised an eyebrow.

“Dinner is going to wait.” He reached for my shirt, his fingers going to work the buttons. “I’m anxious to have the appetizer.”

Some stupid reply rested on my tongue. I left it there. He positioned me back to the counter then stripped me, slowly, peeling off my shirt then bending down to taste my chest. His tongue flicked over my nipples. I gripped the edge of the counter and asked him for more. He obliged with great pleasure. Teeth marking me here and there, he went to his knees in front of me, freeing me of my new jeans and briefs. He even removed my socks. Then, he wet his lips. A shudder strong enough to be measured on the Richter scale rolled through me.

He lapped at the head of my cock, cleaning off a drop of pre-cum with his tongue. I watched as he took me into his mouth, deeper and deeper, until he had all of me down his throat. No gagging or watery eyes on his part. Then he pulled off with a loud slurp that made my knees weak.

“You need to teach me how to do that,” I gasped. His reply was to do it again. And again. And keep doing it until I was a centimeter shy of blowing apart. Wordlessly, because that is how one enjoys their feast, he nudged me around, steering me into the position he wanted. My legs were now quivering, my stomach tight with needy expectation. The first pass of his tongue over my buttock pulled a shout from me. He played a bit, lapping and nibbling, caressing and stroking, his hands roaming over my ass, balls, and cock. Each touch nudged me closer. “Jack, my God stop teasing,” I pleaded, my elbow knocking over an empty wine glass.

Perhaps he was waiting for me to say that, for when I did, he spread me wide and pressed his mouth to my ass, his tongue swirling and probing. My brow dropped to the counter as a moan bubbled up from my chest. I reached back, tried to touch him, but all I managed to do was send chopped peppers and the cutting board to the floor.

When he had worked me into a mindless mass of rubbery arms and legs, he pushed two fingers in, his tongue making hot, wet trails over my ass cheek. He stroked that ball of nerves twice then a third time, making me beg for release which he withheld.

He stood up, gently extracting his fingers. He unzipped his pants. I closed my eyes, my cheek now resting on the cold counter. His trousers hit the floor. The clack of his belt and suspenders on the tiles almost made me lose control.

“Jack, _please_ ,” I panted. He bent over me, his hard cock resting in the valley of my ass, his left hand sliding up over my spine, his right pawing on the counter. I lifted my head. He gently pressed it back to the counter as he picked up the olive oil. “Ah sweet God,” I whimpered as he coated not only his hand but the floor and counter by the sound.

“We’ll clean that up later. Things are going to get much messier,” he said, his voice smoky as an Easter ham. I was so close to an orgasm I didn’t care if he threw olive oil all over the bloody walls.

“Fuck me,” I groaned in sheer misery. Oh, the sounds that followed were incredible. The slip and slide of him greasing up his cock, the soft rock playing off in the bedroom, the sharp intake of my breath when he pushed into me, and his deep moan of pleasure when he felt me relax internally. “Jack, please, fuck me. I need you to do that now.”

“All in good time, Ianto.” He slipped his oily fingers into my hair. I could have cared less. Where that tidy man from Wales had gone, I didn’t know. “A man should never rush through his meal.” He rolled his hips in a slow, wide circle, his fingers tightening in my hair.

Oh, how he lingered over his Welsh buffet. I’d reach for my cock, he’d bat my hand away. It went on and on and on…

“Please, please, please,” I whispered amid deep, rolling thrusts that stole my reasoning and dignity. He was close, his breathing gave him away. Fingers fisted in my hair, he jerked my head up from the counter, slammed into me so deeply I feared I might pass out, and then he came with a roar that echoed off the walls of the kitchen. He held me there - pinned, writhing, imploring for my own release – when the first wave of his orgasm hit him. Then, and only then, did he pull me up to seal my sweaty back to his chest, his mouth by my ear, his tacky fingers in my hair, his cock kicking deep inside me. He fisted my prick. My eyes rolled back into my head.

“Please make sure I never hear the name Bastian Hollycock again.” He gave my prick a rough tug.

“Bastian who?” I managed to croak out.

He made a sound of pleasure. “Now come for me, Ianto.”

I did. The moment he said it, I did as he said like a well-trained Corgi. He held me tight to him as I came, soft words of affection flowing into my ear. When the worst of the shudders had passed, I leaned back into him. His arms went around me. He placed a kiss under my ear.

“I’m going to need a nap to recover,” I said. He patted my stomach with affection.

“No naps for you, Agent Jones. That was only the appetizer. You still have to work on the main course.” He released me and stepped back, slipping out of me slowly. I turned in time to see his fine, tight ass strutting out of the kitchen. I gave the half-prepared meal a quick look then ran a hand over my head, the sticky residue of olive oil drying in my hair made my nose wrinkle. Semen coated my ass. I was a holy mess as was the kitchen.

“ _Ian-to_ ,” Jack called in a sing-song voice. “Dinner is being served in the bedroom.”

I grabbed a neatly folded napkin from a drawer and jogged off to enjoy the meaty entrée waiting in my bed.

 

 

**The End**

**Jack and Ianto will be reunited for my fourth Torchwood tale, “Hunter and Prey”, which will begin on December 26th.**

**We’ll be having a Janto holiday one-shot on Friday, December 23rd, so keep an eye open for that!**

**Thank you so much for reading along.**

**Yours in fiction—**

**Feral**


End file.
